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Darren Lehmann came to court with a blank face, played with a
dead bat and left with a weighed-down heart, which he somehow must
now try to put into a Test match. He had been close to David
Hookes, was more profoundly affected than most by Hookes' violent
death outside a St Kilda hotel last January, and as a current Test
cricketer, his grief had been more public than any other.

Now, in the austere surrounds of court 14 at the Melbourne
Magistrates Court, he was asked to try to reconstruct that night of
mayhem and madness.

Thirty-nine witnesses will be called to a committal hearing that
has attracted more attention than any other that veteran lawyers
could recall, but Lehmann was the only one to appear on the first
day.

Part of the day was spent negotiating a balance between
magistrate Ian McGrane's prior engagement in another court after
lunch, the time needed for cross-examination of Lehmann, and the
imperative for him to be in Brisbane this morning to prepare for
the first Test.

Prosecutor Ray Elstone said he was anxious for Lehmann to open
the batting, and suggested it might be necessary to play through
lunch. Defence counsel Terry Forrest said he had to keep the
national interest in mind, and thought that if it was a typical
Gabba Test, Lehmann could return early next week to complete his
evidence.

Lehmann was aghast that he might be detained another day. "I
might not be in the team tomorrow," he said, gloomily.

Mr McGrane, announcing that he had made room in his schedule for
Lehmann to finish, said: "Either I hear Mr Lehmann out or I become
a selector, and I'm not paid to be a selector."

These asides are usual for lawyers, and understandable, for
their work is otherwise grim. But their gentle humour rang dully to
most in the court, and was lost altogether on Lehmann, whose face
said that he could see no relief.

Lehmann is, as his nickname "Boof" suggests, a happy-go-lucky
character, but not at all now. He was soberly dressed in grey suit
and tie. He was in the witness stand for two hours, and every
second was an ordeal, next to which Shoaib Akhtar on a greentop
would surely have been a pleasure.

Forrest's voice was reassuring, and he stood mostly with his
hands on the back of his own chair, an unthreatening posture. But
he asked his questions one after another, without respite, each
building subtly on the last, like a Shane Warne spell, except that
Lehmann could not take refuge at the other end now.

Forrest created a picture of a pub brawl, with some hard
drinking, much belligerent and provocative behaviour, and an
outbreak of fisticuffs that frightened a local resident who saw it
through a window. Lehmann's stonewalling did not faze him, for,
like Warne, it is his occupational hazard.

Lehmann's face was set like a mask. His only animation was to
puff out his cheeks sometimes, or narrow his eyes or blink as he
puzzled over a question. He dwelled on most questions for a long
time, as if wracking his brain for enlightment, and the transcript
will surely record the dropping of many pins. But his answers when
they came were clipped and curt, as bald as his pate.

Did Lehmann see a brawl in the street? "No." Did he see
cricketers throwing punches at security? "No." Did he not see a
single punch being thrown? "No." Did he see a security guard's
badge pulled from his shirt? "No." Did he not hear a scream of
threats and abuse? "No." Did he hear much indecent language?
"No."

Did not the girlfriend of Victorian bowler Mick Lewis launch
herself at a bouncer? "No." No, it did not happen, or no, it might
have slipped his memory? "No, it did not slip my memory, I didn't
see it."

Did not he and South Australian coach Wayne Phillips attempt to
wrest Hookes from the clutches of bouncers? "No. I had no physical
interaction with any security guard."

Did he not hear Hookes abuse a bouncer? "No."

But Victorian bowler Robbie Cassell's statement told of an
argument, and pushing and shoving? "I might have seen some
pushing."

Lehmann's tone was sometimes affronted, at other times
bewildered. He did see cricketers throwing punches at security,
didn't he? "No." So the local resident is describing something that
did not occur? "That's his statement."

Was Lehmann's own statement, made 17 hours later, not sanitised?
"Pardon?" Was it not cleaned up to protect reputations? "No."

Did not Lehmann admit in an interview in last weekend's Sunday
Age that he had blotted out some of the events of that night? "Yes,
it was pretty traumatic." The most traumatic of his life? "Yes."
Had he not written in his recent autobiography that some of the
details were lost to him now? "Yes. I think so. I can't be
sure."

Boxed in by defence counsel, Lehmann left the impression that he
had been nearby at all the crucial moments on that chaotic and
tragic night, but that in recalling them now, 10 anguished months
later, in the alien and intimidating atmosphere of a courtroom, he
could say only that he had heard little and seen nothing. When it
was done, Lehmann was only too glad to walk.